Moth avoids flame

We left the sodden wastelands of Yorkshire in the north of England yesterday to fly to the sodden wastelands of the Cote d’Azur. What is happening to the weather? 15 degrees and raining is perfectly acceptable in Leeds at any time in the year but Nice, in May? It is not how I have seen the south of France illustrated in the brochures and frankly there is a Trades Descriptions Act issue here, except the French have never signed up to such a sensible law. Do the weather gods have no compassion? I have just put up with 4 days of wind and rain in the north of England, to be expected at this or any time of year, but in the south of France in May? No, not acceptable.

It may be a coincidence but it seems the weather has turned worse ever since the French voted in a quasi (crazy?) communist to oversee the end of the failed Euro experiment and to usher in the new French Franc. This will of course eventually become good news for currency exchange firms such as Currencies Direct for whom I perform small services in return for equally small commissions. Electing a socialist Frenchman called Hollande to be President of France is like electing an Englishman called France, madness.

Global warming is a short-term myth or at the very least not the sole responsibility of the human race as anyone with any knowledge of long-term weather patterns and sun spots will know. It is a fact that over 50 per cent of all methane emissions around the world are from the anuses of animals so all the global claptrap about reducing our carbon foot print by 1 or 2% is just bunkum given the other forces at large. I will rue the day when drought is declared in France. If it is anything like the drought in England then the whole country will be submerged in water. Look at the effect excess rain has had on the insect population in my picture today taken near Otley in Yorkshire.

Giant moth seen in Yorkshire

Nonetheless, despite storm and tempest as we landed at Nice airport I am now back in the cradle of gastronomic creation and despite the weather I feel an inner peace. When one knows that every meal in the foreseeable future will likely be a gastronomic delight and every glass of wine will be steeped in alcohol history, one finds a calmness settling around one like a warm blanket. However, as that warm blanket requires the art and industry of cooking, and with that nice lady decorator cooking her own goose by way of three bottles of Prosecco, albeit in the company of friends, gastronomic delight had to wait and so last night I partook of an Indian take away courtesy of the Indian restaurant on Valbonne.

If the rain ever stops then I have plans. Walking, tennis and cycling are activities that are high on my agenda in the coming days as I seem to have collected a little more than I would like around my waistband due to an over exuberant indulgence in English food over the past four days. What is it with English restaurants? Do they not understand the concept of the vegetable? The French understand it perfectly, even to the extent of electing one to run the country. Salad seems to be a word that in English restaurants is followed by the word “garnish”, which we all know is an excuse to make a nod towards healthy eating whilst supporting the salad dodging fraternity. The word garnish should have a literal meaning suggesting “not likely”.